Time Will Bring Us Home
by tai-chi-leigh
Summary: In which Percy has found his home and Annabeth isn't quite sure yet. Percabeth oneshot. AU.


**A/N: Filled for the request: Can you make a fanfic of Annabeth's car breaking down in the middle of nowhere, and she's forced to go to this one place that's open and percy works there?**

**Not sure exactly where I was going with this one, but I hope you all enjoy. My beta couldn't read this today but I wanted to publish, so all mistakes are mine!**

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><p>Percy considers it a miracle that the rapping on the door actually wakes him up.<p>

He blinks back sleep from his eyes, rubbing them with the backs of his knuckles to clear his vision. Sunlight filters through the window and illuminates the specks of dust on his hardwood floor, and he guesses that it's about 5:30am from the angle that the light hits his bedframe.

He glances at his clock. 5:30am.

Growing up in the middle of the Midwest, he'd perfected his ability to tell time based on nature—he was so good at it that he didn't really need a clock. In fact, he didn't use it; he only had the one in his bedroom and it was more for decoration than anything else. His mom had bought it for him a few years back because he always showed up to social events about a half-hour early or late, and he had gotten tired of hearing her complain that he was destined to miss the vows at his wedding. He keeps the clock by his bedside and makes sure to check it every so often so that he's even _more_ positive that he's not missing anything important.

The hammering on the door continues, so Percy throws on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and makes his way to the door. The floorboards under his feet creak with each step—a sound that's inherently familiar in the old house. It's homey; it comforts him.

He opens the door, and winces at the even heavier stream of sunlight that cascades through the open area. A woman about his age is standing there— her hand raised to knock against the wooden frame once more. She's got on heavy, brown work boots, layered in a coating of dust. Her face is smeared with a mixture of what Percy assumes is grime and soot, and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail that frizzes around the edges.

She smiles at him weakly, and Percy can't help but notice the purple bruises under her eyes and the way her body sags a little bit forward like she wants to rest her hand against the side of the house to support her bodyweight.

Exhaustion, he thinks, is an understatement.

"Hi," she begins, her voice rough like she hasn't used it in a while.

"Hi."

"I really hope I didn't wake you?" she says, almost like a question and there's something about her tone that's so achingly sad that Percy is scared if he tells her the truth she'll cry.

It's not like she seems to be a fragile person—there's an edge to her that's unmistakably tough— but she seems already past her breaking point.

"Um, it's okay. I was going to get up soon, anyway." He shoves his hands into his jean pockets and tries for a hint of a smile. Her eyes flash over his expression and she purses her lips apologetically.

"My car is out of gas, and yours is the only house for miles. I was wondering if you had something to help me out or if you could call a tow truck for me."

Percy gestures to his porch chair and she sits down gratefully. He wonders how long she's been driving if she's completely out of gas. Part of him wonders if she's running from something—or someone—but he doesn't think she's the type to appreciate his questions so he keeps his curiosity to himself.

"You're lucky you made it here. The next house is about five or six miles east, and the closest gas station is in town, which is another ten miles in that direction." He gestures to the empty field and her eyes follow in the direction of his hand. She nods and tucks her feet up under her legs—Percy can see her trying to make herself as small as possible. Perhaps it's on purpose, or perhaps it's out of habit.

"Don't worry about the gas," he continues, "I've got lots extra in my garage. Give me a few minutes to fix it up for you and you'll be on your way in no time."

"Thanks."

He steps down from his porch and the dirt kicks up from around him as he crosses the couple feet to his shed. The door pops open easily—a bit rusty on the hinges—and he bounds into the darkness to search around for a tank of gasoline.

When he reemerges, he sees her on the porch watching him. Her eyes, he notices from a distance, are gray. And although she looks tired, they're sharp and clear.

"You know, you're welcome to food or drinks from my house," he offers.

She considers, her expression almost wistful.

"Do you mind if I have a cup of coffee?"

"Not at all."

She stands up, wobbling the tiniest bit, and he watches her back as she enters the house.

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><p>About ten minutes later, the car is freshly filled and his supplies are back in the shed. He makes his way into his house and he finds her sitting at his table, sipping coffee.<p>

"I made you some."

She slides a second cup over and he accepts, blowing at the steam that billows from the top.

"You're all set."

Her gazes slides over him, unfocused, and settles on the cup of coffee in between her hands. Percy takes this opportunity to look at her—really—and it makes him better to see more color in her cheeks.

"Thanks," she smiles, and it seems more genuine now. "I take it you've lived here for a long time."

"Yeah," he replies, "been here since I was a kid. It's a simple life, but I like it." Percy had been told that he has a slight accent in his speech when he's tired, but he'd never noticed it until now. It makes him slightly self-conscious and he presses his hands to his cheeks to hide a blush.

Which he doesn't really understand because, hey, he's from the Midwest. It's not unreasonable to have an accent.

She doesn't notice, or at least, she doesn't point it out. Her next question, though, surprises him.

"Doesn't it get lonely, being out here?"

He pauses to think for a second. Quiet, yes. Lonely? Not really.

"No, not really. I've got horses to take care of, and I've got some good friends within a few miles. Plus, I get lots of visitors passing through that need supplies. You'd be surprised how many people run out of gas."

He raises his eyebrows at her and she laughs—it's not loud, but it's there. He seizes the opportunity. "Where are you going?"

She shrugs. "Not really going anywhere. Not really coming from anywhere, either."

He breathes a sigh of relief and pushes a hand through his hair which—to his horror—was sticking up, causing the corner of her mouth to pull up affectionately. At least now he knows that she's not a fugitive on the run, or something like that.

He leans forward and rests his chin on his hands, intrigued.

She pauses before she continues, and when she speaks it's slow, like she's surprised she's actually verbalizing everything that comes out of her mouth.

"Haven't ever really felt at home, anywhere, if that makes sense. Even when I was little, I felt like I didn't really belong. The feeling was just getting worse and worse—you know, that fear of living an entire life and never being actually happy."

He nods, to show he's following.

"So last week, I quit my job and I've been driving ever since."

Percy looks at her with something he thinks he'd describe as wonder. While he doesn't really understand the concept of not feeling at home (after all, he has lived in the same place all his life and he wouldn't change that for the world), he believes wholeheartedly in being happy. And if this girl isn't happy where she was, he admires her for trying to change that.

When he looks at her again, he sees more than just exhaustion. He sees a tiny bit of stubbornness, willingness to take risks.

He bites the inside of his cheek. She's actually really beautiful in the morning light streaming through his kitchen window—and maybe it's silly after their conversation about the feeling of _home_, but he can't help but think that his kitchen isn't quite made for one person. There's just enough room for two—with two seats and two sets of nice plates and all that.

She looks up from her coffee, to see that he's staring at her, and maybe he's tired but he swears her cheeks turn pink.

"That's really brave," he says, because he's pretty sure she can tell his approval in the expression on his face. Everyone tells him they can read his emotions like a book. He's thankful for that, so his expression can fill in where his words can't. He doesn't think there's a purpose in hiding what he's feeling, anyway.

"Thanks," she sighs, and it seems to resonate straight down to her bones, like she needed the encouragement. Which she probably did.

There's silence, and then she speaks again. "I better be going soon, do you know what time it is?"

Percy spares a glance out the window.

"I'd say about 6:15am." He doesn't have to check the clock—he's certain.

"How can you know?"

He shrugs. "Some things just seem right, you know?"

She gives him a significant look.

"Yeah, I do."

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><p>She thanks him once again, and he watches her get into her car and drive off into the distance. The sun is nearly all the way up now, and Percy makes his way back into the kitchen. He clears her cup from her side of the table, noticing that the house his quiet once again (the same sort of quiet he's accustomed to), and his biggest regret is that he never even got her name.<p> 


End file.
